Flesh And Blood by Jonathan Kellerman

I don’t think I stared, but maybe I did, because she seemed suddenly to become aware of her body—of being, for all intents, stripped naked by the second-skin wet dress. She gave a tiny, knowing smile, flipped her hair, peered into my eyes as I forced them to keep away from the curves below. Trailing her eyes—now I saw flecks of amber in the big, clear, green-blue irises—down her own body. Then her gaze shifted to me as she conducted a quick appraisal of my wet suit. Smiling again, she turned and, clenching a child in each hand, dragged them back to the spot where she’d fallen asleep. Walking slowly, with a swivel-hipped, tiptoe prance that jiggled her rear.

I followed, and she had to know that, but she paid me no mind all the way to her beach chair. The straw hat lay half-buried in the sand. The shiny thing I’d seen from the kayak was an Evian bottle. I realized I’d forgotten about the kayak and turned sharply.

The boat had come aground, upended, almost square with the spot where I’d brought Baxter the ear biter to shore. I jogged over, pulled it out of the tide’s way, became aware of the throbbing in my ear, touched the lobe, inspected my finger. No blood, but those little teeth had done their job and the flesh was still dimpled and hot.

Back in the spoon-shaped shelter, the woman in the wet dress remained on her feet, saying something to both kids. Sage looked up at her, but Baxter’s attention had drifted back to the ocean, and when he moved toward the water the woman held him back.

Then she waved at me. I jogged back.

“Please tell him,” she said, when I arrived. “There are sharks out there. Right?” Smoothing down the soaked dress, pressing the fabric flush against her skin.”Fuckin’ shark,” said Baxter, growling happily and gnashing those killer teeth. “Eat eat eat eat eat eat! Grrr!” Sage laughed.

“Well, aren’t there?” the woman demanded of me. “Big killer whites or whatever—as big as dragons—like from Jaws!” She gnashed too. Small, sharp white incisors of her own. Her nipples had swelled to cherries.

“There just might be some kinds of sharks in there,” I said to the kids. “Sharks and all kinds of other fish.”

“There you go,” said the woman. “Listen to this man, Bax, he knows. With all those sharks and fish and sea monsters in there, you’d be nothing but food, right?”

The boy chortled and tried to break free once more. The woman held on to him and whined: “Stop, you’re hurting my arm—you are really going to kill me. Wild thing—and you should know better too, Sage-a-roo-roo. What got into you, you always hated the water!” Sage dropped her head. Her lips trembled.

“Oh, no,” said the woman scooping her up. “Don’t start crying, now—c’mon, sweetie nibbins. C’mon, c’mon, no tears now, you’re a good girl, you don’t have to cry—good girls don’t have to cry.” Sage sniffed. Cried.

“Oh, please, Sagey. Mommy just doesn’t want anything to happen to you. Okay? You understand?”

Sage’s nose began running, and she licked away snot. Baxter said, “Ew, boogers,” and yanked on his mother’s arm.

She yanked back, raised her voice. “Now just set yourself down—both of you.” Pushing both children down onto the sand. “Good. Now just stay there—don’t move or … no TV and no pizza or F.A.O. Schwarz or Digimon or Pokemon or nothing. Okay?” Neither child responded.

“Good.” To me: “You must think I’m a horrible mother. But he’s impossible, never sits still. When he was a baby, every time I walked through a doorway carrying him he used to stick out his head and—bump! Banging his head on purpose] Raising these lumps! I used to worry everyone would think he was abused or something, you know?” A glance back at Sage: “And now, you too!”

The little girl said, “UUUUUl”The woman blew a raspberry. Smoothed her dress again, heightening the virtual nudity. “She’s usually my good one. What a day.”

I smiled. She smiled back. Stuck out her hand. “I haven’t thanked you, have I? I’m really horrible—thank you sooo much. I’m Cheryl.”